


I Want It All

by blackbentley



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Genitals Are Not Specified (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bratty Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Genitals Are Not Specified (Good Omens), F/F, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Light Angst, Light BDSM, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Smut, Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27529456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackbentley/pseuds/blackbentley
Summary: Alcohol is consumed, rash decisions are made, there is a small amount of angst and a happy ending!This was a contribution to the Aziraphale edition of the Bottoms Up zine - go and check out the rest of the collection, as there is some amazing work in there! This was also illustrated by the wonderfully talented Nephy (princenephy on Instagram).
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 30
Collections: TheBottomsUpZineArtandWritingCollection





	I Want It All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aziraphaliac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aziraphaliac/gifts).



> Just a content warning - this does feature a slap in the face so please skip if that's not your thing or likely to be an issue.

Crowley can't remember what point he's trying to make. By the time he's shuffled the footstool over, plonked himself between Aziraphale's knees and topped up his wine, it's gone. He gestures expansively to try and hide the dead space and pitches forward, arresting his impending fall by planting both hands halfway up the angel's thighs.   
  
He considers that for a moment; realises he's been considering it for more than a moment and the fact that he's still there might be Noticeable.  
  
Crowley lifts his head; they're nose to nose. Something hot thuds in his stomach and he's very aware of soft warmth under his palms. He lifts them, the slightest release of pressure, and Aziraphale darts forward to kiss him. 

Crowley stills, reptilian core of his brain lighting up. Before a _fight or flight_ decision can be made, a tongue swipes over his lower lip.   
  
A split second, and the reptile brain decides. The heat in Crowley's belly crackles up his spine; he surges off the footstool and Aziraphale is pinned to the sofa, breathing shallow and eyes wide. Crowley straddles his hips, one hand either side of his head, fingernails digging into the soft leather of the backrest. His lips draw back in a snarl, inches from Aziraphale's face.   
  
Suddenly, Crowley is very, _very_ sober.  
  
"Shit ... angel, I'm sorry, I don't know -" He goes to clamber off the sofa but Aziraphale grabs hold of his wrists, keeping him close. Crowley meets his eyes, confused, then it clicks.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Aziraphale's not frightened. 

Crowley has always known Aziraphale loves him. Completely, quietly; never spoken but said every day in innumerable tiny ways. From the first time he realised it was love he felt for the angel, he's known it was mutual.  
  
But not this. This is something Crowley has never allowed himself to imagine, that the shameful want that keeps him awake and sweating at night could be something Aziraphale feels too. It’s dizzying, like the air has been thumped out of him and replaced with nothing but _need_ , feverish and grasping; he wants to take and take and _take_ until there's nothing of Aziraphale that doesn't belong to him. 

It's too much.

Centuries have passed, and he's thought about having Aziraphale in this exact position (along with a variety of others, some requiring a corporation which is, shall we say, _flexible_ about things like vertebrae); but now he's here he can't see it through. 

_Standard. In with a bang, out with a whimper._

The blistering force that threw him into the angel's lap starts to recede, replaced with something cold and hollow, horribly akin to shame.

Whatever it is, Aziraphale recognises it. He cocks his head to one side and raises an eyebrow. Almost smirks.

"I know that look. Going soft on me, are you?"

It's enough.  
  
His head snaps to the right as Crowley lands an open-handed slap on his cheek. Rough fingers grip his chin, wine-flavoured lips crushing against his own. A forked tongue slides into his mouth. It's a loss of control on the demon's part, and he aches for it, to see how far he can push it. 

"Is this what you want, angel?" It's no more than a murmur, Crowley's teeth nipping at Aziraphale's bottom lip. There's a barely perceptible nod.  
  
"And is this ..." Crowley takes him by the throat, presses him back against the sofa. "Is this how you want it?"   
  
Aziraphale nods again, as best he can with a hand wrapped round his neck.   
  
Crowley drops his weight onto Aziraphale and rolls his pelvis, eliciting an audible groan. The effect of the sound is immediate and Crowley kisses him again, bruisingly hard. He snaps his fingers and Aziraphale's arms are wrenched upwards, wrists suddenly finding themselves bow-tied together behind his head. He actually _pouts_ , curse his bratty little heart.  
  
"My dear, that's ..."  
  
Crowley silences him with one raised eyebrow.  
  
"Sorry, angel, were you going to say _that'sss not fair_?" He flashes a predatory smile. "Part of a demon's job description."  
  
Crowley lifts a hand to Aziraphale's face, making him flinch. He drags his thumb down over swollen lips and pulls the angel's mouth open. He slips two fingers inside, curling them against his tongue, pressing far enough that Aziraphale has to force his head back to keep from gagging.   
  
"Such a good angel." Crowley starts to withdraw but Aziraphale bites down, trapping his fingers in place. He flicks his tongue hesitantly over the demon's fingertips.  
  
_Fuck_.  
  
There’s a needy, high-pitched whine, which Crowley is disgusted to realise is coming from him. It’s all the encouragement Aziraphale is waiting for.   
  
The expression on the angel's face is obscene as he sucks Crowley's fingers, wrapping his tongue round them and moaning hungrily. It's all Crowley can do not to tear him apart. He rocks back and forth, setting a pace with his hips and matching it with his hand, fucking into the wet heat of Aziraphale's mouth. 

Crowley knows he can't last, feels pleasure bubbling through him, but he's determined to finish this for Aziraphale before letting go. He releases the angel's hands and they move reflexively to his waist, pulling him in for as much contact as possible.

Crowley speeds up as Aziraphale bucks underneath him, desperately chasing the friction. He grinds down hard. Aziraphale writhes, thrusting his hips up once, twice, and then arching his body off the couch, a strangled scream escaping his throat. 

It's too much.

Crowley comes with a rush, folding over with his eyes squeezed shut, two fingers still pressed against Aziraphale's tongue and the other hand digging into his chest.

There are tears in Crowley's eyes when he opens them. Aziraphale is flushed, glowing with adoration, and Crowley knows that's for his benefit. This was what he wanted, what they _both_ wanted, and it was _right_.

_But still._

His fingers trace the palm print on Aziraphale's cheek.

"Didn't mean to hurt you, angel."

Aziraphale looks abashed. "I'm quite alright, dear boy. There's just one thing ..." 

"Anything."

"... hit me harder next time?"


End file.
